


Murder Mystery

by flosphorus



Category: Hermitcraft, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Different perspectives, Gen, Murder Mystery, Victorian Party, concorp, everyones wearing something nice :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2020-09-07 13:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20310361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flosphorus/pseuds/flosphorus
Summary: Everyone's invited to Wels' housewarming party to have fun, dance, and bring back civility to the server! Sure hope nothing dark and mysterious lurks this way to ruin it...





	1. the part where he dies

**Author's Note:**

> this is that part.

It was a dark and not quite stormy night, and also the night that Wels had happened to finish his Victorian mansion outside of Hermitville. He had invited the entire server to his housewarming party to bring a little class to the Hermits, many of whom have been living too feral for much too long. He had noticed through the grapevine of their communications that maybe the server was due for a little formal event before they turned into rats… not to offend a certain Mister Tomato Yoshi.

He paced around the grand foyer nervously, smoothing out the curtains and pushing down the windows extra tightly so that the rainwater wouldn’t leak onto his perfect floors. It would sure be a shame to have anything stain the imported sherpa carpets and his polished spruce wood floors. He had also raised the roof quite literally, a temporary expansion to accommodate the grand chandelier he made with end rods and fence posts. It hung elegantly in the center of the room, the crystals projecting speckles of light onto the ground.

  
He doubled checked the champagne tower to make sure that every glass was in place and ready for the impressive pouring that was sure to wow the hermits. He practiced it almost every night before the party, after all, resulting in many, many trash bags filled with carefully packed glass buried outside in the garden. The refreshments corner was also prepared for battle, with finger foods meticulously prepared from over the past few days and a gigantic layer cake he’d painstakingly baked with similar amounts of trial and error to the champagne tower. The rest of the table was catered by Cub and Scar, who had tossed many menu options in his face and perhaps ran off with more of his diamonds than he was ready to give. None the matter, though, since the food and decoration looked like they were worth every penny.

  
The dance floor was ready and so was the pianola hooked up to the slightest bit of modern tech that he allowed himself for tonight’s events, with the redstone wiring tucked away under the ground as to not ruin the effect of the seemingly-haunted piano. When he first built it, it only played off-key ragtime, but with the help of his redstoner friend, he’d managed to add some additional songs onto it. Tango really was on something else when he figured out how to play the civil war anthem “Hermitgang” (for the irony, of course) on Wels’ dingy pianola. Tango had added the regular waltzing songs, of course, and then went his merry way to manage his far-off city of TekTopia. Shame he wouldn’t be able to make it tonight. Now _that_ was a man of class if Wels had ever seen one.

  
Wels heard the hoof clops along his gravel driveway, accompanied by the rolling of wheels at the front of his abode. Someone’s early. He peeked outside the curtain quickly, then excitedly took his place in front of the door, waiting for the knocker to sound. Wels breathed excitedly, then calmed himself as his corset strained against his tense body, He quickly adjusted his top hat and brushed a few stray hairs back into the waxed nest sitting upon his head. A delicate knock resounded through the wood of his doors and echoed through the empty halls.

  
Wels flung open the door eagerly, meeting the equally beaming face of Stress, completely adhering to the dress code and then some. She pulled no punches with her dress, and by the looks of it, her gigantic crinoline wasn’t going to fit through just the single door; Wels opened the other door to let her step inside.

  
“Welcome to the party, Lady Stress, I hope you’ll find the refreshments room to your liking while we wait for the others to arrive,” Wels greeted, lifting her hand to press an event-appropriate kiss to it.

  
“That’s Queen Stress to you,” she giggled, getting into character with Wels.

  
“My deepest apologies, _Queen_ Stress. And where’s your escort tonight?”

  
“A queen needs no escort, love.” She covered her mouth with her fan, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She whispered on the side, “Also, our friend Iskall went to get help from Mumbo.”

  
Stress wiggled herself through the doors with all the grace of a swan tripping. She pat down her dress and stood up straight to be escorted into the foyer. Wels offered an elbow and she slipped her hand inside the crook of it, both of them breaking character temporarily to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

  
“Just a word before we start, I’d like tonight to be as tech-free as possible, so if you could put your communicator into the box, that’d be great,” Wels whispers.

  
“Okay, sure!” Stress dropped her communicator into the tin box without a second comment. Wels left the box open for consequent guests. She made her way to the edges of the room and sunk down into a chair in relief.

  
“Oh, Wels, I don’t think I’m going to last the night in this corset and hoopskirt,” she groaned, leaning back before her corset forced her posture straight. Her dress was accentuated by the chandelier Wels had hung up. Her silk skirt was made of navy blue silk, the color lightened by the shorter overskirt made of white net fabric. The top slipped just off her shoulders, revealing her collarbones and framing the ice necklace she wore to represent the kingdom she hailed from. The rest of her jewelry only brightened her appearance, with the blue ice tiara catching the light and bracelet shining brilliant against her white gloves. He stared appreciatively for a moment, envisioning how beautiful everyone would be once they all arrived.

  
“You’ve such a lovely thing planned, love, shame it’s going to storm tonight,” Stress frowned, staring into the gray clouds darkening into the same color as the night sky.  
“Yes, I’d had some invitees decline attendance because of it. There will be other balls, Queen Stress.”

  
Stress and Wels spent a couple of moments seated in silence, listening to the gentle piano play with the pitter-patter of the rain to set the beat. Stress fanned herself lazily with her silk fan to beat the humid heat building up in the room. A couple of rocket launches outside broke the silence, the shrill sounds interrupting the soft music. The two of them perked up.

  
“Must be a guest, excuse me while I get the door,” Wels got up and speed walked as gentlemanly as he could over to the doors. He heard a gentle knock and the frantic unbuckling of elytra coming from behind the doors as he approached.

  
Wels opened the door to see Mumbo, who was in his usual attire of a suit and jacket, with a couple of extra accessories to make himself dressier for the occasion. His newly included top hat and bow tie made all the difference between a man and a _gentleman_. Mumbo paused like a deer in headlights at being caught taking off his elytra. Wels offered a hand to take his coat and elytra with a hostly smile.

  
“A man of science! I do sure hope your science can tell us if the other guests are close, Sir Mumbo,” Wels grinned, and hung Mumbo’s articles onto the coat rack next to the door.

  
Mumbo extended his own hand for a firm handshake with Wels. “The others will probably be here in a few. A lot of them ran into some trouble when it came to, ahem, dressing. That and some of them are taking the nether route because of the rain. Haven’t you been checking the chat?” It’s obvious that Mumbo was already well-adjusted to the life of uncomfortable clothes, a trait that Wels wished he could have so that he may ignore the tight feeling in his abdomen whenever he took a breath.

  
“Speaking of chats, tonight will be rather low-tech, so if you’d please place your communi-” Wels hardly finished speaking before Mumbo dropped his communicator unceremoniously into the box and made a beeline for the pianola, leaving Wels in bewilderment.

  
Mumbo looked back at Wels and sighed, “Trust me, I’ve been finding an excuse to get rid of that all week. You-know-who’s always up to something. Anyways, is this redstone? It seems quite advanced.”

  
“Yes, Tango helped me get it set up. Does it pique your interest?”

  
“Very much,” Mumbo nodded, brushing his hands along the self-moving keys.

  
Back at the end of the ballroom, Stress busied herself by pouring a cup of punch and helping herself to some of the finger sandwiches. She spun around in her dress in delight.

  
“These are amazing, Wels! Much better than what the kingdom villagers make!”

  
“Thank you, your compliments are quite touching. Also, Sir Mumbo has arrived.”

  
“Now it’s a party!” She whooped, skipping her way over to Mumbo. “You plonker! Don’t think I don’t remember all those times you forgot to feed Fedora! I believe you owe me a dance for that!”

  
Mumbo stammered profusely, raising a finger to defend himself before getting swept away by Stress placing her hands on his shoulder to waltz. He followed her lead awkwardly, his awkward expression transforming into a smile as they danced to the music.

  
“I’ve got two left feet, Stress.”

  
“And I’ve two right! It’s alright, Mumbo.”

  
The knocker sounded again, and Mumbo and Stress stopped dancing in anticipation of the ones behind the door. Wels opened it to greet the first pair of the night: Cleo and Joe. Joe looked around impressed, stroking his chin and commenting, “Oscar Wilde wrote plays specifically about Victorian practices like this, but I’d think he’d retract all those comments if he saw this.”

  
“Thank… you?” Wels stood there a little dumbfounded. Cleo brought the conversation back down to earth and said, “It’s wonderful, Wels. And you look dashing!”

  
“You as well, Lady Cleo and Sir Joe.”

  
“Captain Cleo,” Cleo corrected.

  
“Captain Cleo,” Wels repeated. What’s with the girls and holding so much power? Regardless, he kissed Cleo’s knuckle politely.

  
“Technically, Wels is the only one that can be called ‘Sir’, being a knight and all,” Joe pointed out.

  
“Technically, I’m an admiral, Joe, but the titles sound good on us, no? Let’s have some fun,” Cleo laughed, pulling him inside. Her teal and red crepe dress trailed behind, and her large hat stuck full of roses bustled about her head. Joe held on to his blue bowler hat as he stumbled in with Cleo.

  
“Cleo!” Stress called out.

  
“Stress!” Cleo came forward to give Stress a slight hug with very little arm due to the largeness of Stress’ crinoline.

  
“How are you surviving in that outfit? This waist-pincher is killing me.”

  
“Ah… you know what those men of science say, good for organ support. It probably also helps that I lost feeling in my ribs long before the party, Stress,” Cleo elbowed her playfully.

  
Joe, in the meanwhile, inspected the place in awe, jotting down quick notes in what seemed to be the inside of his sleeve.

  
Before Wels knew it, the gentlemen all arrived together. Iskall, Ren, and Doc all came in, shifting in their stiff outfits uncomfortably, but maintaining smiles in front of their host.

  
Doc had his robotic parts painted with striking flower patterns, no doubt an immense undertaking for someone who was right-handed. Iskall clearly had his diamond eye polished, glistening with a new vigor. Ren accessorized with a couple of strategically placed flowers upon his hat and in the center of his bow. None of the men had dressed in traditional colors of black and white like Wels had, which was definitely for the better. There was nothing worse than a drab party. They each greeted Wels at the door and quickly dispersed into the main event. Iskall shared a secret handshake with Mumbo; Wels watched with great attention at the minute long handshake, getting more and more absurd as it passed.

  
“Hey man, killer party,” Ren whistled, assuming a relaxed posture. “Sorry, I mean _exquisite ball_, my dear sir.”

  
“Dude, just have a good time,” Wels chuckled. “And send Renbob and Tomato Yoshi my best regards, Ren.”

  
“Will do. So sorry that they couldn’t make it tonight.”

  
Wels snickered at the joke he pulled about a month ago, deciding to send invitations to the alter egos of the hermits as well. Perhaps the Salmon Ghost and the Jingler were in their midst tonight.

  
False came in accompanied by Xisuma. They were dressed the most accurate to an actual Victorian party, mannerisms included. Xisuma had stacked his hat on top of his helmet to much comical effect. Wels could still see through Xisuma’s helmet that he, for some reason, had groomed the hair on the inside. False had both her hands rested on the crook of Xisuma’s elbow, a shining beauty in gold and green silk towering a full inch taller than Xisuma. Upon closer inspection of her feathered hat, she kept her signature goggles buried amongst the fluff. Wels then saw the decorated rapier tucked into a sword holder belt that he hadn’t noticed before. Not so formal after all, but stunning all the same. She extended her hand to Wels, who, for the third time tonight, kissed politely.

  
“Sir Xisuma and… do you have a title, False?” he asked.

  
“Are we doing titles? I’ve always wanted to be a governor,” Xisuma mused.

  
“Lady would do quite well, Wels,” False replied with a titter edging her voice.

  
“Governor Xisuma and Lady False, welcome to the Welsknight Estate,” Wels announced.

Wels collected the rest of the communicators with no hassle, except for some resistance from Xisuma, who seemed a little reluctant to let go of the only thing that allowed him to administrate the server. Doc told him to loosen up and pat him firmly on the back. Xisuma finally caved and placed it gently alongside the rest of them. Wels locked the box and placed it upon the hallway table.

  
The hermits chatted amongst themselves, catching up on news around the island and discussing potential team-ups for the development of Hermitville. Most agreements were sealed with exploding fist bumps and high fives instead of handshakes.

  
Wels rang a glass with a lobster fork. It was time for the main events to start.

  
“Thank you all for coming! I hope you're all having a great time tonight.” He went to grab the bottle that he swore he’d set aside earlier, only to meet air. His world shattered around him.

  
“…Oh dear, forgot the champagne. I’ll go get it from the cellar real quick.” He grabbed his coat off the coat rack and dashed out the doors.

  
“You heard the man, let’s get this party started!” Cleo cheered, ripping off her skirt to reveal… a pantsuit! If the event were any more formal, some of them might have gasped in scandal. But this was a Hermitcraft party, and the hermits all complimented her in awe of her originality and boldness. There was a brief applause that followed. Doc went over to the pianola and turned up the volume.

  
Time passed as the party continued. The music played seamlessly from one song into the next, maintaining the energy for a long time. Stress sat down in the corner, exhausted from the amount of accidental skirt stepping and tripping over her large dress. Cleo put a reassuring hand around her shoulder.

  
“I’ve still got that skirt from earlier. If you don’t mind the color clash, I think you could make it work.”

  
“Thanks, love, I’ll take you up on that offer,” Stress smiled. The ladies went up to a room to get changed. Stress and Cleo reappeared down to the foyer, with Stress donning a slimmer skirt more appropriate for dancing, but Wels still wasn’t back.

  
More time passed. The hermits’ throats were getting parched as they abstained from drinking without their host. The storm came with a boom of thunder, then a spear of lightning lit up the windows in an eerie glow for a split second. The fat rain droplets tapped heavily against the glass windows in a cascade of noise comparable to dropping a box of marbles.

  
“Shouldn’t Wels have been back by now?” Xisuma questioned.

  
“Perhaps it’s his attempt at bunburying,” Joe offered, “In this case it’s a bottle of champagne, though. So would the term be ‘champagning’?”

  
“It can’t be safe in the cellar now; storms and underground cellar don’t mix well,” said Doc.

  
“Someone should go check on him,” suggested Stress.

  
“I’ll do it, I still have my regular suit on underneath,” Xisuma was already halfway out the door with his own forest green coat on his shoulders.

  
“Hot potatoes, X, how are you not hot?” asked Doc incredulously. Xisuma ignored the question and opted to run out the doors in the direction Wels went, his quick footsteps punctuated by the splashes his shoes made as he headed to the back of the house.

  
The hermits waited with bated breath. Ren paced the floor nervously. Doc turned down the music to listen for Wels’ and Xisuma’s return.  
Their collective worries turned into deep concern as they heard a single pair of footsteps heading back. Xisuma bust in through the door, breathless, coat wet with rain and a splotch of… something else.

  
“I think you guys might want to see this,” he panted. The hermits followed him to the back of the cellar in urgency.

  
The cellar was dark and dripping with water from the storm, but luckily Xisuma had left a lit lantern by the side of the staircase. The cold stone of the room made even Stress shiver, but maybe there was fear adding onto it as well.

  
“I don’t know how to tell you this but… something happened to Wels,” whispered Xisuma, holding out his light to illuminate the crumpled body at the bottom of the stairs.

  
Ren was the first to gasp, followed by the mixed reactions of the rest of the hermits. Doc fell to his knees with a wail.

A large glass shard stuck out of Wels’ chest, leaving a gaping wound that was no longer bleeding, for all of it had branched between the cracks of the cobblestone tile in a crimson river. He was still, and his eyes were wide open in terror. The champagne bottle he’d went to fetch had rolled down onto the floor, still unopened. Thunder shook the room as panic swept across the partygoers. Mixed shouts and cries echoed in the cellar.

  
Xisuma leaned down and touched two fingers to Wels’ neck, praying that he was wrong the first time.

Nothing.

Cold.

  
There was no doubt about it. Wels was dead.


	2. panic! at the welsknight manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whodunnit?? its only beginning!

One would have to expect that these things happen, even at a fancy party. The hermits’ world was inhabited with plenty of monsters and other lucky accidents waiting to happen. They waited for a couple of minutes, watching his blood flow through the cracks of the cobblestone. No one bothered to clean it; it would evaporate soon enough after Wels respawned. The hermits stood around his body, waiting for it to dissipate and for Wels to come down the stairs to get them at any moment now.

Aaaaaaany moment now.

“Why isn’t he respawning?” Doc turned to Xisuma for an answer.

“Good question,” replied Xisuma. “Well, I know that he’s dead. I checked twice and he’s got no pulse.” He hung the lantern over Wels’ form, the warm light reflecting through the glass in his chest and giving the body the appearance of animation. It felt oddly out of place. Then again, Wels not respawning was also out of place. Xisuma frowned.

“Can you check the logs? See what’s going on?” suggested Mumbo. 

“That’s a thought. Let’s get back upstairs.”

They filed out in reverse order of which they came. Doc, Ren, and Cleo made a mad dash to the front entrance, not willing to stay in the pouring rain for long. Mumbo walked with purpose, holding onto his hat tightly the entire time as to not lose it to the storm winds. He shivered the entire way. It was very clear that though he was used to wearing uncomfortable clothes, he wasn’t well-accustomed to how the same clothes would feel in the rain. Iskall, ever the gentleman, draped his coat over Stress for an improvised umbrella, shielding her minimally from the rain outside, but a friendly gesture nevertheless. Stress focused on lifting her skirt slightly off the ground to avoid any mud getting onto Cleo’s rental skirt. They slowly made their way to the door. Neither of them seemed to mind the cold or wetness that the rain brought, taking their time to have a side chat. 

Xisuma followed Iskall’s example with False, who rolled her eyes playfully and ran away from the cover he made, catching up to the others. Joe slipped under his coat instead, smiling appreciatively at Xisuma. “I hope you don’t mind, X, but I’d had enough water lately with my projects and all. Turns out that sponges aren’t the only thing I’m wringing out every time I get under the Triviollercoaster.”

“Just glad to help a friend, Joe. Let’s go find out what happened to Wels.”

The two slowly but surely made their way back. Joe kept getting distracted, deep in thought, as if he were seeing something that no one else was seeing. Xisuma kept moving around to keep the coat over Joe’s head as Joe made sudden stops to stroke the wooden walls and to crane his neck up to the see the roof. Funny man. Impossible to keep up with.

“It’s beautiful architecture,” he comments when he catches Xisuma giving him a weird look. “Inspiration not only comes from the mind, but also from friends, and sometimes also from a party gone awry.”

Inside, everyone was patting themselves dry. Ren shook himself off quickly, and went straight for the box of communicators. He tried to pry it open to no avail.

“Uh, guys. I think we might have a problem.” He pointed to the heavy code lock that held the two pieces of the box shut tight. 

“I can smash it,” offered Doc. He rotated his shoulder, preparing to karate chop the box straight in two.

Xisuma shot up his hands to hold Doc’s arm back before he could bring it down on the box. “No, don’t. We can’t risk harming what’s inside. My administrative powers are in that box and there’ll be no one around to fix it if it breaks. We run the risk of destroying the server,” he warned.  
“Geez, X. If you’d told me earlier I wouldn’t have told you to let go of your communicator,” said Doc, rubbing his temples.

“We could ask someone who’s not here,” Mumbo said, “I can name a couple of hermits who were still online last I checked, er, let’s see… Impulse, TFC…” He counted on his fingers the two people and then wiggled them for emphasis.

“I’ll go to Impulse right now; I think I know where he is,” said Xisuma, tossing his damp coat on. “I’m the admin and I need to take charge of this situation.”

Xisuma ran out to the walls of Hermitville, the zombies too distracted by the villagers inside to notice him passing through the gates. He breathed a chuckle of appreciation and a silent kudos to Ren for building such excellent defenses. He shut the gate behind him and climbed his way up the tower where the Nether portal was housed.

Before he could make it to the top, what he didn’t hear from the tower alarmed him. Xisuma never thought that he’d miss that annoying noise of gurgling, but today is filled with firsts for a lot of people. The usual purple light wasn’t shining through the hole in the floor either. He got to the tower platform to discover that someone had removed a single obsidian block from the portal, effectively tuning it off. He patted around his pockets for some obsidian. That’s right. He cleaned up today because he was supposed to be attending a sophisticated party with his friends and not supposed to be standing out here drenched in rain with no way of finding out why Wels isn’t respawning. He groaned. Defeated, he went back down the tower to share his findings.

“Portal’s off,” announced Xisuma, absolutely drenched in rain for the second time as he got back in the house.

“What do you mean it’s off?” said a baffled Doc, “X, you’ve done your fair share of this, you take a flint and steel, and you—“

“Someone took out a block,” Xisuma explained, “So I’m going to need obsidian and a flint and steel to get it open again.”

Everyone checked their inventories for a piece of obsidian. No dice. It seemed that everyone had cleaned their inventories for a change. Who brings obsidian to a party, after all? 

The hermits stood in awkward silence for a brief moment, unsure of what to do. Without knowing for sure what’s in the logs, what could have happened to Wels?

“If he isn’t respawning, it could mean that somehow the server got switched into hardcore without me knowing. I don’t know who could’ve done that, but it seems to be the only possibility,” Xisuma piped up.

“Oh dear,” False covered her mouth with a hand. She started tearing up. “Does that mean… does that mean Wels is gone for good?” A hush fell over the room, this time filled with a realization of truth, followed by a deep grief. There was no need to answer False’s question. The answer hung heavily in the air.

“What now?” Iskall asked, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

“We bring him justice,” Joe snapped his fingers for emphasis. A gasp came from the hermits.

“I say he was murdered,” declared Joe, “Think about it,” he starts, “It’s the perfect setting to wiggle in a murder. Stormy night, no communications, the inherent murderous undertones of a ball party in a Victorian mansion.”

“Also, there was a huge piece of glass stuck in his body. That can’t be natural,” added Iskall.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Xisuma said, “Because that would mean—“

“That one of us is a murderer,” Joe nodded solemnly. “And I know who it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vote on your phones who joe's thinkin of ;)


	3. starting the fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which joe finally snaps

Joe wasted no time starting the fires. There was a new spirit in him, fueled by his penchant for justice.

“The tell-tale heart!” Joe points accusatorially to Stress, “You’ve been here all night, chatting up every other hermit here. Perhaps to throw us off the scent?”

“Why I never— I’ve been in the same room with you the entire time!” Said Stress, with ice in her voice. Her dress seemed to fluff up along with her anger at being accused.

“Not entirely true,” Xisuma pointed out, “You were here earlier than anyone else and also went upstairs at one point to get changed. Wels was still alive when we arrived, obviously, so you could have done it when you were upstairs.”

Cleo interjected. “She couldn’t have! I was just outside the room, waiting for her to get—“

“So you admit that she was out of your sight for those moments!” Joe shot back. Cleo looked taken aback.

“No, gah! Wait a minute… you’re not in the clear yet, X. You were the one who volunteered to get Wels. And it’s awful convenient of you to also say that the portal’s broke!”

All eyes pointed to Xisuma. Crud.

Doc came to his rescue. “We need to look at the facts, people, not just accuse others like this.” Everyone murmured in begrudging agreement, but the possibility that Xisuma was the murderer was still hot on the table. They unconsciously moved back from him. “The facts are that Wels was found in the cellar and he could have been murdered any time between going out the door and when we found him. We also know that he was killed from the window shard in his chest.”

“He couldn’t have been murdered outside,” thought False aloud, her PVP wisdom shining through, “Because he would have left a blood streak on the floor when he got to the stairs, and we saw that all of it was accounted for on the cellar floor.”

“Hold on,” interjected Iskall, “What makes you so sure that it’s window glass and not any other glass? There are tons of other things in here made of glass.”

“Yes,” said Stress, “Like the bottles in the cellar. It could have been one of those.”

“Last I checked, people don’t get stuck with glass in a room with no windows,” Joe agreed.

“C’mon guys, we’ve bought enough ConCorp glass to circle the map fifty times over and you still don’t recognize the kind of glass used? Not to mention, if it were a bottle, the glass would have been much smaller.”

Ren held up a diagram, revealing a hasty sketch that he had been making the entire time with some pencils and a map. “It checks out. There are windows on the outside that anyone could have easily gotten the glass from. We should go check for broken windows.”

“We shouldn’t. It’s raining too heavily out to see out there, and if anything, we’ll be putting ourselves more in danger. Remember we’re in hardcore now,” pointed out Cleo.

“Not to state the obvious, but we can check around inside the mansion for any broken windows. I’m just saying windows go two ways. But we should handle the accused first,” said Mumbo, twiddling his thumbs nervously. He glanced over briefly at Xisuma before snapping his eyes back to the floor.

“Look.” Xisuma sighed. “If it makes you feel any safer, I’ll go up to a room and you guys can lock me in there. Once the rain clears, we’ll figure this out.”

“I’ll stay in there with him,” said Stress. “To make sure he doesn’t try any funny business.”

The gang took Stress and Xisuma up to what appeared to be a guest bedroom. It contained a bed with a canopy, a little library filled with old and obscure books, a work desk, and two chairs. Stress took a seat on the bed, while Xisuma situated himself near the work desk and crossed his arms in a neutral stance.

The way the door worked was that only the inside had a lock that could be used by a guest to maintain their privacy through the night. Xisuma twisted the key with a kerchunk and slipped the key under the door.

“Sorry, dude, we just have to get to the bottom of this and we’ll be out of here before we know it,” said Doc reassuringly. Xisuma heard Doc ruffle around for a pocket to safeguard the key, then his heavy steps as he descended the stairs and joined the others on the first floor.

“So did you do it?” Stress asked softly, with hesitance quivering her voice. Probably an inappropriate conversation starter.

“Why would I ever? We’re all friends with Wels. At least I thought we were…” Xisuma frowned. “Argh, why isn’t he respawning! I couldn’t have changed the game mode since I’m locked out of my admin powers. The only other person who can is…” He looked out the window pensively. “…Gone.”

“I know you didn’t do it X. You don’t have it in ya.” Stress smiled weakly at him. She leaned her back to the headboard, using a couple of pillows as support. She blinked her eyes in exhaustion, eyelashes fluttering as she struggled to keep awake. It’s been a long night for her.

“Well… thanks.” At least one person believed him. Xisuma draped the blankets over her loosely. He turned around and gazed into his reflection in the window. He thought of red helmets and flowers through the dripping streams on the glass. They waited for the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowie wow wow this took me quite some time to write. settling into college is kind of hard, sorry about the lack of updates! i plan to see this to completion, though!


	4. -beatboxes- joe hills the science guy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even i cant crack the enigma that is the inner machinations of joe's mind, but at least i can try
> 
> now with art from the wonderful @galaxyna (tumblr)!!
> 
> https://galaxyna.tumblr.com/post/187359458059/so-i-started-reading-murder-mystery-a-hermitcraft  
https://galaxyna.tumblr.com/post/187363594999/so-next-up-for-a-victorian-make-over-was-xisuma

The first question when approaching a whodunit shouldn’t be “who done it”, it should be “why done it”. Why Wels, of all people, and why in his home, of all places? It just didn’t add up. As far as Joe knew, the hermits got along nicely; there was never any hostility that ever came from the server, not during the prank war, and certainly not now.

He shook off his thoughts and looked around at the other hermits, who were already making busy work of marking the checked windows by placing the empty champagne glasses on the sills. With every non-broken window found, their concern grew. After they checked every window around the route that Wels took, they reconvened.

“Nothing here,” reported Iskall, “Not even a crack.”

“Same for me,” said False, followed by concurring shrugs from Ren, Doc, and Cleo.

Mumbo twiddled his mustache and speculated aloud. “What if the killer used glass from the second floor?”

“What do you mean?” Said Doc.

“It’s very plausible that she—I mean they could have gone upstairs and punched out some glass, then had someone else…” He hesitated to say the next part. “Finish the job.”

Doc took a swig of punch that he had poured himself and sipped it, pondering the idea, evident by the slow bobs of his head. When he finished his glass, he poured another, not wanting to be the first to say what the implications of that statement were and instead distracting himself with the red juice. Joe furrowed his eyebrows. He didn’t like it either, but he had to say something. It could very well be the truth.

“Mumbo, are you trying to say that Stress and X planned this together?”

Mumbo sucked in his breath, “Well I wouldn’t say that I’m directly accusing them but, uh, according to the facts…yes.”

“We check the second floor, then,” said False, hurriedly picking up a couple of glasses to mark the windows upstairs. Ren took them from her and held the glasses in his arms. “As Tomato Yoshi taught me, teamwork,” he winked to nobody, “Makes the dream work.”

False bowed in appreciation and lifted her skirt to go up the stairs, with Ren following closely behind. The rest of the hermits followed her lead, each going up the stairs at their own pace. Mumbo went up hesitantly, gripping the banner tightly, afraid his theory might become fact. Joe stayed at the bottom of the step, watching the others go up as if to deduce who could have done it by just their gaits. Sherlock Holmes made it look so easy. But alas, he did not share his detective skills the same way he shared Holmes’ musical talent. You can’t have it all, he thought, defeatedly.

Cleo stood next to him, her hat covering the stitches on her face. It made her look so much softer, so much more human. So when she gave him an utterly perturbed look, Joe couldn’t help but mirror her expression.

“It’s not Stress, Joe. I know it.”

“That’s what I want to believe too but the fact of the matter is—“

“I don’t care about that. I know what I saw, and I know Stress wouldn’t kill anyone! This is madness, Joe, and I won’t stand for it,” she huffed. Joe didn’t have a response to that.

He crossed his arms to focus on gumshoeing. Broken portal, fallen mortal, what connected them all together? And who would desire to cause strife with a glass knife that would put a friend’s life to Death’s scythe?

Cleo stayed by him the entire time, refusing to follow the other hermits upstairs. She stared intently at the stairs waiting to see if her hunch on who the murderer was would be correct. She and Joe paced around each other and ping-ponged ideas back and forth.

“What if…!” Cleo pointed a finger in the air. “…Nevermind.” She put the finger down in shame. They went around concluding nothing, and nowhere closer to the answer.

The hermits came downstairs yet again to report their findings. Doc poured himself yet another glass of punch and sipped it idly. He was met with a lot of strange side-eyeing. “What?” he said, “It’s good punch. And we’ve done a lot today.”

“Not a hair out of place. All the windows are intact upstairs too; I’m running out of ideas, my dudes,” Ren reported, tapping his foot in frustration.

“Seems like you were wrong, Mumbo,” Joe noted.

“Oh thank goodness,” Mumbo breathed a sigh of relief.

“But it doesn’t bring us any closer to finding out who did it,” he reminded everyone. The hermits all stiffened up a bit again after hearing that. They all murmured to each other their theories, too afraid to share them again, more in fear of being right than being wrong. They parted into their groups and pairs.

All of a sudden, the lights went out. The manor was enveloped in total darkness. The hermits screamed.

“Wh-What’s going on!” yelled Ren.

“I don’t know!” shouted False back to him.

A stir arose, filling the room with the sounds of ruffling clothing as the hermits tried to find their footing and the sounds of yelling in shock at the same time. Doc’s glass hit the floor and shattered, adding to the din growing in the room made with only seven people. The pandemonium did not shake Joe. He stood in place, wildly observing everything happening around him, which was mostly darkness, determined not to shut his eyes on this case.

He saw lightning flash across the dark manor and saw yet another flash from across his peripherals, a blade shining brilliantly like the woman who wielded it. It was at that moment that he understood everything.

He smiled.


	5. oh let's break down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an emotion? what is that? i cannot write such a thing.
> 
> also i keep seeing you guys' comments and i want so desperately to respond but im afraid that will spoil the story... do know that i read all of them and theyre much appreciated!
> 
> with even more art from our evertalented @galaxyna on tumblr!
> 
> doctor miku 77: https://galaxyna.tumblr.com/post/187425073584/the-doctor-is-ready-to-party-our-favorite-crazy  
joewo: https://galaxyna.tumblr.com/post/187405700369/change-is-inevitable-and-sometimes-well-received  
kween cleo: https://galaxyna.tumblr.com/post/187385054089/our-next-victim-for-victorian-fashion-is-non

“What was that!” Xisuma jolted back to his senses. He stood up, taking a defensive stance. Stress reached for a sword that wasn’t there and grasped at empty air. Blinking twice, she inspected the nearest lamp and turned the knob around curiously. Xisuma wished he had put on his more technical helmet on today to see more clearly in the dark, but again, there were a lot of things he had wished for tonight. The stars outside his window weren’t answering.  
  
She reassured a stiff Xisuma with a little laugh. “We had blackouts like this all the time in the lab, X, nothing to worry about. Just a little power surge.” She emphasized the littleness by squeezing her pointer and thumb together.  
  
He chuckled and shook his head in embarrassment, “Goodness, I thought I was going to have to clean up the lighting glitches without my admin powers, what a nightmare!”  
  
Stress and Xisuma had a chuckle for a moment, both of them politely muting their laughs with a hand over the mouth.  
  
Then they heard the screams coming from below and their laughter stopped abruptly. They turned their heads to the door.  
  
“What’s going on now?” Stress said.  
“Maybe it’s the blackout? We need to help them!” he replied.  
  
Xisuma jiggled the doorknob to no avail; Stress put her finger on her lip to stop it from quivering as she watched on anxiously. They listened on helplessly.  
  
The lights flickered back on, but some of them stayed off still. The lights that were on cast a faint glow over everything, shrouding the guest room in a scene of black and white. The screaming stopped, followed by an eerie silence. Stress looked ghastly white in the moonlight.  
  
He pressed his ear to the side of the door and heard a voice speak. “Something’s wrong. I’m going to get Xisuma and Stress. Everybody stay where you are.” The commotion stopped as Doc gave his command from the bottom of the stairs. The familiar footsteps approached his door once again. Doc pulled out the key. On Xisuma’s side, the lock turned and clicked open with another dull kerchunk.  
  
Xisuma helped Stress navigate down the stairs, holding one hand up while Stress’ other hand glided down the banister. They descended as quickly as possible to meet up with the other hermits, who had listened to Doc and still stood in place. Their faces were shrouded in the dimness, and it was difficult to make out the details of each hermit. They looked more like shapeless messy blobs as his eyes were still adjusting to the sudden power outage.  
  
“Why aren’t all the lights back on?” Ren scratched his head.  
  
“Backup generator’s only turning on the important stuff,” realized Mumbo with a snap of his fingers. “A certain somebody had forced me to build one just in case. Iskall, come with me to find the fuse box. Everyone else stay where you are.”  
  
Xisuma stared at the floor to calm his dizziness from the disorientation of the dark and observed two pairs of footsteps heading off to the side rooms of the manor.  
  
Iskall and Mumbo found the fuse box successfully, apparently, as the lights started glowing their powerful yellow again. The chandelier glowed, dappling the dance floor with speckles of reflected light. The pianola started up again, playing on the quiet settings Doc had set earlier in the evening. Iskall and Mumbo emerged from a room and stood with the other hermits.  
  
Doc counted heads. “One, two, three, four, five, six, and myself.” He counted again, slowly this time. “That can’t be right, let’s try it again…Six and myself.” He counted again. And again. “Six and myself. Who am I missing?”  
  
He scanned the room with a finger and craned his neck over some hermits to see if maybe he didn’t catch the smaller ones. All of a sudden, his eyes widened. His hands flung to his mouth and gasped. All the hermits turned around to see what Doc had seen.  
  
There she was, obscured slightly by the snacks table, curled into herself in a cascade of gold and green and her red, red blood, like the fallen leaves of an autumn forest. A rapier pierced through her chest with clean precision, the same rapier that she had brought to tonight’s party. She laid unmoving.  
  
“False!” Ren cried. He ran over to her side, on his knees as he tried to shake her awake desperately. He grimaced, knowing that his efforts were futile.  
  
Upon seeing False’s body, he unconsciously touched the red splotch left by Wels earlier tonight. His mouth struggled to find the words. “F-False…” he choked out, unable to keep his stoic expression in check.  
  
Two permadeaths. That’s two too many. An immense sense of guilt washed over him. How could this have happened? He was always so careful to manage the hermits and the server, to quell their concerns and be their shoulder to cry on. He’d even banned his own brother for them. How did it ever come to this? He looked up at the other hermits, who were crowding in hesitantly to comfort him. Oh. That’s right. They’d never seen him like this before. And he felt it now, the hot water running down his face in itchy streams that he couldn’t rub off without taking off the privacy of his helmet.  
  
Oh, ridiculous, derpy Xisuma, he was scaring them. He shook off his tears and met their eyes with the new strength that they needed now more than ever.  
  
“Wait. Where’s Joe?” asked Xisuma. Where was that curious gentleman?  
  
“Gone like the wind,” replied Iskall.  
  
“Missing at the crime scene?” Xisuma said.  
  
Xisuma's voice turned low, “Do you—do you think that Joe did it? I didn’t want to say this too early, but I saw Joe looking up and down the manor mighty suspiciously earlier, and he’s been acting weird all night too. I suspect he might have to do with Wels’ death as well.”  
  
Cleo puffed up in rage. “Hold on there, we haven’t seen the facts yet, X! Don’t you dare accuse him like that; maybe our poor Joe got lost in the blackout! He could be hurt or even worse, dead!” Cleo shrieked. She pulled her red hair in agitation. She calmed her voice, her breaths drawn out and ragged. “He’s not the killer, everyone. He can’t be. He wouldn’t!”  
  
“You’re right, Cleo; it’s too early to say. X, is this how you treat ladies?” Iskall placed a comforting hand on Cleo's shoulder, who adjusted her bowtie and looked away from Xisuma with a harrumph.  
  
“No, I didn’t mean to—argh!” Xisuma gripped the sides of his helmet in frustration. “This wasn’t supposed to happen!” He kneeled by False’s body and shooed away Ren, who gladly obliged. Maybe the body would give some clues as to what happened. Maybe it would explain why he had two permadeaths on a now-hardcore server and why Joe was missing. He held his breath and focused his brain away from grief and onto work.  
  
“Why would False stab herself with her own sword?” he questioned aloud. The sword was clearly hers. Along the elegant handle was a crudely carved “FALSESYMMETRY” into it, making it obvious who the sword belonged to. He studied the end of the diamond blade nested between the ribs and back of False. It shone angrily sharp still, definitely sharp enough to have been the weapon that fell her. The question still stood. He didn’t believe False would kill herself, not like this. But still, this kind of wound would require immense precision or immense luck by anyone who would try to do that to her. He narrowed his eyes at the hermits. Who was malicious enough, who was masterful enough to have accomplished this deed? Certainly not the company he was in. Once there was a time he would have suspected Biffa, but obviously, he wasn’t here and hasn’t been for a while now.  
  
His gaze lied upon the handle again, and he worried his lip when he saw the engraving. He averted his eyes from looking at False's face. He tilted his head around to get some different angles, hoping he would be able to come to an answer soon. The handle stayed perfectly matte black on all sides except for the name and a little bit of a red and green paint stain.  
  
Wait.  
  
A paint stain?  
  
Xisuma gulped. That would mean...  
  
The murderer was right behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you think you can stop the symmetry thats true


	6. x-files theme plays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well, this took some time. have some art too!
> 
> symmetry: https://galaxyna.tumblr.com/post/187522436009/murder-mystery-chapter-1-flosphorus

Xisuma turned around gingerly. The next words he’d says would change everything. He lamented. Hasn’t his world changed too much tonight? He didn’t believe it himself.  
  
But he’d have to admit the truth sooner or later.  
  
He got up and walked to Doc, shaking as his hand met the cold touch of the other’s metal arm. This was the arm of False’s killer. His blood boiled upon seeing the evidence he needed to convict Doc. Doc looked cool as a cucumber. Xisuma narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  
  
“What are you doing, X?” Asked Ren nervously, reaching out a hand to Xisuma’s tense shoulders.  
  
Xisuma held up Doc’s hand to the hermits to reveal scratches where the paint transferred onto the sword handle. “You didn’t seal your paint job entirely, Doc, and now it’s all over False’s rapier.”  
  
Xisuma expected an uproar, a heated fight amongst the hermits that would cause dissonance between the Doc they knew and the killer they know now. Instead, he was met with silence, a wave of both disbelief and grief.  
  
“But why?” implored Cleo, tipping her hat over her eyes so the hermits wouldn’t see her tears.  
  
“Area 77,” Doc began, “Is not a joke. She endangered herself and everyone else on the server when she decided to raise a town in front of the containment facility. I had to do something about it.”  
  
“And Wels?”  
  
Doc didn’t answer.  
  
“What did you do to Joe?” Cleo raised her voice to a serious, assertive tone.  
  
Doc stayed silent. He stared at the floor, expression neutral.  
  
“Where’s Joe!” she demanded, tossing her hat onto the floor. She restrained her tears in front of the hermits, eventually turning around to let them fall. The hermits let her be and instead focused on Doc. They looked at him with abject horror rather than anger.  
  
“You can’t ban him, X,” begged Ren.  
  
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Xisuma said, “We’ll have to find a way to open up that box and then we can deal with that issue, though. For now, I think we should just contain him upstairs.”  
  
As he descended the stairs, he analyzed the situation. Why hadn’t Doc said anything about Wels and Joe? When Doc didn’t answer, it seemed to be out of genuine unknowing rather than purposefully being obscure.  
  
Doc didn’t struggle against Xisuma when he placed a hand on Doc’s back to lead him upstairs. How peculiar, Xisuma thought. His body was unnaturally stiff. It was as though Doc was using the last of his energy to ascend the stairs. Xisuma thought nothing of it. He’d better suffer after what he did to False.  
  
Doc sank into the same chair that Xisuma was sitting in before, folding his hands casually across his lap. Xisuma admitted, “There’s something you’re not saying, I know it. You wouldn’t kill False over something that petty.”  
  
“I can’t get anything past you, X,” he chuckled hollowly. “You’ll know out soon enough why I did what I did.” Xisuma couldn’t help but feel a chill go up his back at Doc’s ominous words. He shook the feeling off. Doc would be gone soon enough. He closed the door.  
  
Doc slid the key under the door after locking it with another dull sound. How ironic that he should be the one on the other side of the lock now. Xisuma jiggled the knob to ensure the door was completely locked. Can’t be too careful now.  
  
Xisuma came back down to see the hermits still standing around False, each of them whispering a few words of prayer and some apologies given too little too late. Someone had already pulled out the sword from her chest, laying it next to her body. Iskall threw his green jacket over False’s unmoving form, obscuring both her blade and her face.  
  
Xisuma joined the crowd, crouching down low and whispering two simple words of “I’m sorry” before standing back up. There’s no time for his grief. Joe was still out there, lost, or maybe even dead. They could rest easy now that the murderer was contained.  
  
“We should be safe now,” Xisuma reassured everyone.  
  
Before his very eyes Stress collapsed in a puddle of satin and lace, looking bluer than the icebergs of her kingdom.


	7. oh she needs some miiiiilk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> felt like it was about time to give this a good ending. It deserves as much  
Didn’t wanna whip and dab and update without there actually being an update lolll  
Anyways after many many *many* midterms I am back from the grave (unlike some of the hermits in this story) and down to write. If you’ve read the spoilers I’d given to whycraft, try to forget them all now. Or dont. It’s your choice.
> 
> and happy halloween if i dont update again before then!

No.

No.

Nonononono.

No!

This couldn’t be happening. He was the admin for goodness sake!

“Milk,” Xisuma croaked, “She needs milk.” He held her head up shakily, watching the blue of her ever-frost-bitten face turn to sickly green before his eyes. Her eyes were glazed over and struggling to keep open as she seized in resistance against Xisuma’s supporting arm.

Iskall dashed out of the room, pushing through the shock-stricken hermits to the kitchen on the far end of the ball room. He rummaged through the refrigerator, tossing out a couple things hastily before reaching the milk. He ran back down to Stress, sliding on his knees the last few feet. He popped open the carton with his teeth, skipping the precious time that would pass unscrewing the darn thing. Iskall held the carton to her lips and titled it up, the milk draining into her mouth. 

About half the carton was gone before Stress swatted the carton away, hurling milk and poison to the side. She wiped her mouth with her glove gingerly. Mumbo handed a handkerchief to her, which she graciously accepts, dabbing the remaining bile off her nose and lips.

“Fanks, Mumbo, Iskall,” she spoke softly, then coughed the last of the contents of her stomach onto the floor. 

“Feeling alright, Stress? You had us all scared there,” Xisuma explained, offering a hand to her. She accepted, getting to her feet before doubling over again. Cleo pushed one of Wels’ cushy chairs over for her to rest in. Xisuma let her down slowly, Stress shaking the entire way. She was very weak, possibly at only a couple hearts left. If only this place had a brewing stand or any regeneration effects of any sort… No time to be losing it, Xisuma thought, she’ll simply have to hold on until they got out of here.

“Give her some space, peeps,” Xisuma said, waving away the hermits closing in around her in concern. Stress was still breathing heavily, partly due to her corset, catching her breath with her hands on her knees. Iskall offered a glass of water to her, which she drank hungrily to get the sour taste of bile off her tongue.

After letting Stress catch her breath, Xisuma asked, “Any idea what may have caused that?”

“A royal coup, perhaps? The villagers did seem a little angry at me trapping them in little cages when I was setting up the market. Could’a traded me rotten potatoes instead of the regular spuds.” Witty as always. Xisuma chuckled a laugh of relief. She would be just fine.

Still yet, it was quite unnerving that Stress had almost permadied under his watch. Sure, he could take that it was an accidental spud poisoning, now that some of them had taken the hobby of passing those accursed things into others’ inventories as a prank now, or he could be thorough and make sure that it wouldn’t happen again.

“Anything else, Stress? A run in with a weird cave spider or any potions of poison splashed onto you?”

“No, Xisuma. It was just golden carrots today. I was working inside the castle so I hadn’t a chance to sit and have a proper meal today… nor had any messy fights with any mobs ‘round here. Besides, I don’t think any of them would whittle my health down like that…”

“So who poisoned her?” Ren asked.

This question again.

“Xisuma,” Mumbo started tentatively, “you were the only one with her in that room. And the only one who could have known that this would be your chance to permanently kill someone.”

“Xisuma—“ Iskall clenched his fist, ready to cuss him out to nigh heaven with not-so-gentlemanly words.

“Wait, wait! Not Xisuma,” Stress shook her head furiously. “I was in the room with him the entire time with him, and I felt a little ill before, but I thought that was just this blasted thing.” 

Oh. Earlier when the blackout happened, it wasn’t the lighting that made her look so white.

“The punch!” exclaimed Ren with a shout. “A poison potion could easily be slipped in there without noticing until it’s too late. Like a ninja.”

That was a highly likely possibility. It would explain how the rest of them got away with it, as they hadn’t touched the drinks since poor Wels died. But who could have done something like that? His first thought immediately flicked to Evil Xisuma. No, it couldn’t be. That wasn’t his MO, nor was he even around to do that to them anymore. Could it be possible that the update brought him back? No, not possible. He reassured himself that EX wouldn’t have the subtlety to pull off something like that, not without making a big ruckus of it. Come to think of it, he did miss cleaning up those messes that he created. Really, Xisuma thought that maybe he missed EX just the tiniest bit. A little. Maybe he missed him a lot.

But that’s off topic. He checked back into reality. Official business only now.

“Who was here early enough to have spiked the punch?” he asked. That would get them off to a good conversation.

“Well… I would say it was just Wels,” Stress said. “And whatever catering Cub and Scar did, but I don’t think they would risk their reputation like that. I know they couldn’t do that to ConCorp.”

“Hold on a second, bros. Didn’t Doc drink from it too?” Ren raised his hand.

“Yes, I do recall. Wait. Oh no.”

With this new revelation, Xisuma noticed that the upstairs had been eerily quiet since they settled down from the hysteria over Stress. 

This couldn’t happen on his watch, not even to a murderer like Doc. He was still their friend first, no matter what. He wasn’t going to watch another one of his friends die in front of him, not again.

“I’m checking the room now!” he shouted to everyone, with panic in his voice. Xisuma dashed up the stairs, fumbling around in his pockets for the key. Keys, keys, keys, he needed them now more than ever, and here he was slipping his dumb butterfingers on them. He willed his hand to stay as he inserted the key into the lock.

He flung the door open for the umpteenth time this evening, and his face went dark at what he found: the window shattered, and Doc with his hands folded in the armchair, eyes closed and utterly dead.


	8. another one bites the dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short chapter today. feelin a bit out of it lately

Xisuma rushed over to the still Doc; maybe there was some chance, any chance that he was still alive. He just had to be! His heart stopped when he pressed a hand against Doc’s heart, feeling nothing. Yes, Doc was dead. 

Death. Xisuma still had trouble getting used to that word. Even a killer like Doc didn’t deserve to permadie. Death on Hermitcraft was supposed to be an inconvenience, a funny joke at most. He was going to miss laughing at his friends when he retrieved their items. More so, he was going to miss his friends! 

He left and shut the door behind him, not willing to see the bodies of his friends any longer. The rest of the gang ascended the stairs already, circling in to both interrogate and comfort him.

“What happened, X?” Ren asked, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

“Isn’t it obvious? Doc’s gone now too!” Cleo looked away, her voice breaking on the last word as she choked back her tears. Even Cleo realized that Doc had been a friend first to them, and losing him was too much to bear.

Mumbo and Iskall stayed silent, though they took off their hats in respect for their late redstoner friend. Xisuma followed suit, taking a moment of silence to remember Doc’s achievements on the server and his sacrifices. Doc did so much for the hermits, it was hard to think of him as a murderer. It puzzled Xisuma the most. Doc’s final words to him wasn’t enough to work out his motive; Xisuma knew for a fact that Doc could never murder another, not on purpose, especially not over something like Falsewell.

“Unfortunately, Cleo’s right. There’s still one thing that I cannot, for the life of me, figure out. Who could have poisoned the punch?” 

Stress piped up. “We would have noticed if anyone was slipping stuff into the punch except for when we went up the stairs, and Cleo and Joe were down there when we were up there earlier.”

“Hold on a second there; Stress, you got poisoned before that, so we couldn’t have done it,” Cleo pointed out, put on edge at the mention of Joe.

“Ah. Sorry there, love. Still a bit woozy from all that,” she steadied herself with a hand against the rail for emphasis.

“Let’s get you a seat,” suggested Mumbo, gesturing down the stairs.

Stress made a hummed her acknowledgement and took her first step down.

In a split second, Xisuma watched her trip,

fall,

and land face down.

She was still.

And then she disappeared.


	9. we're all in this together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished it all in one go. it's time to end this for real.

“Stress!” All of them cried out, hurrying to the bottom of the stairs to see what was left of her. Strangely enough, her body did leave items behind, unlike the other passed hermits. The several handkerchiefs she’d been passed during the night and a half stack of uncooked steaks lie strewn about the ballroom floor from the impact of her landing.

Mumbo is the first to sniffle, then sob, “I’m sorry I forgot to feed Fedora!”

Iskall shut Mumbo’s agape mouth, still spouting gibberish from having her slip from his hands. He eyed the items suspiciously. 

“But wait,” he said, “Xisuma, you said we were on hardcore, but that’s a regular death. She’s respawned somewhere!”

“That is most peculiar, Iskall,” replied Xisuma, struggling to bring himself back down from the quadruple deaths and a missing persons case that occurred this night. “I’m not sure what could have happened.” He blinked twice and rubbed the floor with his fingertips aimlessly.

Xisuma narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps the killer had gotten all their targets tonight and has returned this world to normal. But that’s just my theory. There’s no way for me to know until the rain stops for tonight and I can go to the office and check.”

Ren went to pick up the remainders of Stress’ inventory, handing Mumbo back his used kerchief. As he stored the steaks in the fridge (for someone will have to care for all of Stress’ wolves after tonight), he perked up at the sudden shave-and-a-haircut knock that rang throughout the whole house, silent now that the pianola had exhausted its playlist. Who could it be at this hour, in this weather? Ren opened the door.

Xisuma just barely picked out a familiar voice from the doorway. Ren pulled them in with a big bear hug, and ushered them quickly inside.

“It’s meeee… the Jhooooost!” Joe moaned playfully, still dressed in his evening garb, now sopping wet. Ren handed him the nearest kitchen towel, letting Joe wipe his fogged glasses.

“You’ll be a real Jhost soon enough if you don’t warm up and explain yourself!” yelled Cleo from across the room. She dashed at a breakneck speed to tackle Joe, trapping him in a hug that made the front of Cleo’s own suit wet. “We thought you were dead! Joe, you weren’t there but… False an—and Doc and Stress, they’re all gone now.” She lowered her head solemnly.

“Not quite. I solved the mystery, y’all,” Joe grinned from ear to ear, making jazz hands. He tipped his bowler hat dramatically to the doorway, cuing in the arrival of Doc, False, and Wels himself from the doorway. 

Everyone immediately piled in into one big conversation group, spewing and overlapping confusion together. 

“But—but what about the bodies!” Xisuma asked, “Those were definitely yours! And the blood! And the evidence! Oh, you gave me quite the scare there, thinking we were going hardcore!”

“All planned from the start. Doc and False came up with their own ‘murders’, but I solicited them for the party game tonight. The bodies were armor stands that we all figured out how to make together. Took weeks of sculpting, but in the end, they were enough to fool you too, X!” Wels said teasingly, adjusting his coat collar proudly. “I sure hope this was enough of a team bonding exercise for us hermits. Forgive me for being so unexpected, but I just thought we wouldn’t come together right if I just told you to come and party.”

“I hid my armor stand under the table cloth, then went out the front door when the coast was clear,” added False. “It was about time we hermits stopped being so hermit-y. It’s not right that we only see each other when we’re butting heads…”

“I said yes to False when she asked me to join Wels and herself, and I was responsible for stabbing False's armor stand while she was leaving,” piped up Doc. “I took my armor stand from under the bed in the study, and respawned in Hermitville. And you were right, Ren, Wels did poison the punch, but it was supposed to just affect me… I guess Stress has some mythical blood too? By the way, I love Falsewell a lot, actually. It’s so convenient to buy cheese and milk, and the town helped Area 77 rehabilitate the aliens from stealing more cows and time machines.”

“You could say it brought us together,” mumbled Mumbo, unable to hide his joy at seeing all the hermits again. “I certainly enjoyed the puzzles and mishaps. I’m confused, though, why did you leave, Joe?”

“Well, I figured out the mystery when I was outside with X and noticed all the window glass was still there, and I confirmed my hunch when I witnessed False pass off her rapier to Doc. I just thought ‘why ruin the fun right now?’ and left by the front door so I wouldn’t spoil anything,” he fanned himself for a moment, tipping his head to gesture to Wels, “he found me when I was heading over to Hermitville and let me dry off in the Nether.”

“Speaking of the outside,” Xisuma asked, “Wels, how did you know it was going to rain today? I didn’t even know.”

“I gave Impulse a Nether star to start up the rain at the summoning altar. He did the same thing for his game in Hermitland, actually.” Wels explained. “That’s an obscure detail that no one ever mentioned, so I used it to my advantage. To be quite honest, I didn’t even know it existed until Impulse himself told me.”

“So he’s in on it too?” Ren gasped.

“Yup. And so was TFC, but he was feeling a bit under the weather to come.”

All of the hermits exhaled deeply for the first time since the evening started. They all took their places on the ballroom floor again, chatting more amicably than ever, groaning at the clues and hints left behind now that retrospect had taken hold of them.

Wels unlocked the box of communicators, much to Xisuma’s relief. He scrolled through the messages frantically, wanting to see if Stress was alright as soon as possible. Judging by her confused messages and Impulse’s own surprised ones, he assumed that Stress was all caught up with the developments. He shot her a quick text promising to visit her tomorrow and wishing her some good, well-deserved rest. She texted back with “Haha!” and a smiling emote. Xisuma saved some of Stress’ favorite sandwiches for tomorrow when for when he makes a formal apology to Stress. 

Wels started up the pianola again, and they all bustled about their evenings until the morning. New laughter rang throughout Hermitville.


	10. it doesn't feel the same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what the new day brings

When morning rose, Xisuma rose from his canopied guest bed, facing the rising red sun peeking over the horizon. He looked over at his administrative communicator. It was about a couple ticks into the day, time 23002 to be exact. He smiled fondly at all the memories of last night as he exited his bedroom and descended the stairs. Nobody else seemed to be up, or as much an early riser as Xisuma, probably given that Xisuma got most of his sleep in places where time doesn’t exist. He picked up the sandwiches and the raw steaks from the fridge and wrote two notes: one to thank Wels, and the other to apologize to Stress. He left the first note pinned on the countertop, and the second taped to the box.

He walked out the front door, stepping over the muddy puddles and the breathing in the crisp air that the rain had left. It truly was a new day.

He walked through the Nether portal, now repaired, and made his way over to Stress’ castle.

Stress greeted him at the door herself, now dressed in her casual pink cardigan and her ever-stylish roller blades, accepting the sandwiches graciously.

“I can’t believe you remembered that I couldn’t stop gorging myself on them, X,” Stress giggled as she bit into another one in the massive dining hall. “I’ll have to ask ConCorp to cater my parties too!” A chef of her kitchen swung the kitchen door open wordlessly, carrying six more bowls of chopped steak for Stress’ dogs. The dogs ate ravenously beside her, glad that their master was healthy at home again.

Xisuma sat in the seat right beside her, usually reserved for kings and other royalty (though he supposed he was a little bit like an authority in his own right, he’d been governor only last night, after all). He folded his hands on the table patiently to find the right words to say to her.

“I’m sorry we let you die last night, Stress. How are you feeling?”

“Right as rain, Xisuma! No need to worry, I place a lot of my trust into the hermits here, you know. They’re our friends. And I respawned, didn’t I?”

“I guess… I would say I trust the hermits a lot too, though it really took me till last night for me to start thinking about them that way. You guys are important to me, you know? It would be like losing a part of myself to lose any of you.” At this time, Xisuma realized that he had been missing something, and he’d been missing it the entire time at the party.

“It’s only time 24000, X, no need to get so sappy on me. Adopt a chicken and I’ll call it even,” she winked.

“It means a lot, Stress. I’ll be visiting the End if you need me.”

“Anytime, X.”

-

Xisuma peered into the End portal, with its many sparkling particles fading in and out the infinite space. He stepped in, taking his usual leap of faith into the box of void with a bouquet of poppies and a pink Worm Man mug in hand.

He spawned in his bedroom tucked away at the edge of the End. It had been ages since he last needed to use the dark oak cottage where he used to bunk with Evil Xisuma, and the thick layers of purple and yellow dust covering the furniture revealed the disuse. How many years had it been? Two? Ten? One hundred? It didn’t matter to Xisuma. In the End, any time is always too long and too short simultaneously.

He went out to the garden where he’d built his first Ender ender farm, and where he’d first bandaged a crying EX for reaching his hand into the mass of Endermen. The farm had since been taken apart by wear and curious Endermen, leaving concave patch of soil where it used to be. He placed the flowers into the mug and typed one command into his communicator.

“Evil Xisuma? Evil X? Are you there?” he called out. “I’ve learned that I miss you. It was wrong of me to ban you, and you’re a part of Hermitcraft that I should never have taken for granted. Could you come back now?”

The flowers stood frozen in place where Xisuma had left them in the garden. He sat at the edge of the island where the darkness covered his peripheries, staring out to the void for a response.

It stared back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. consider this my official secession from hermitcraft. it was fun for a while, but as most of my interests do, they dwindle and fade into good memories. i would say, all in all, i don't regret my time there, but when string frays, it will also snap. it's my hope that we can all leave what we loved with good memories.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as an excuse to bring more attention to Wels building a big Victorian style mansion. Then it turned into an excuse to dress all the hermits nice and fancy. Then it was just an excuse to write. Hope you guys enjoy the hermits pretending to be fancy.


End file.
